Into the Horizon
by queen-sheep
Summary: Paul takes Sally back home to meet his parents, but there's one obstacle they have to get though - the airplane.


_Written for the Capture the Flag Competition - Round 4_

* * *

Sally hitches her overnight bag higher on her shoulder, carefully making sure all the straps were flat and all the zippers were completely and utterly shut. She then looks over her shoulder at Paul, who was coming after her.

Slow. Too slow.

She restrains herself from tapping her foot nervously, or fiddling with her watch, or checking to see if her shoe laces were tied, but her emotions must have shown on her face. Paul speeds up a little, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks, concerned. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Fine," she squeaks, a little too high pitched. Sally clears her throat, and takes a deep breath. "Really. I'll be fine," she says, smiling at him.

He lets the subject drop, but there's no denying the gaze he keeps on her the entirety of their journey to the airport gate. Sally avoids that gaze, staying a couple steps ahead of him as they made their way to their destination. It's at the very end of the airport – perfect for working out a bit of energy. She would be fine once she reached there, she tells herself firmly.

She had to be fine.

They make it, somehow, to the departure gates, and the energy inside her is increasing instead of decreasing. It's all she can do not to scream. Instead, she sits down, shoulders tense, mouth set in a grim line, hands clenched into fists of her lap.

They're early.

She tries to take one deep breath, but she can't even manage that. Her breaths are short and quick, and Sally think she might be on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Hey," Paul says gently, the concern coming off him in waves now. "Hey. We can always go back. Are you nervous meeting my parents? I can tell them we'll come another time."

Her throat is so thick she can barely talk, but she manages a, "No! It's not them."

Paul waits, watching her patiently, and it's in that moment that she can feel all the love she feels for him swell up inside of her. He reaches out his hand, and she twines it with hers.

"I—" she begins.

Sally falls silent, trying to word it in her mind. She takes one deep breath and tries again.

"Actually, Paul, I— I'm… afraid of planes."

Silence is her answer. Sally squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for his reaction. Her heartbeat's pounding in her chest, and she can hear blood rushing through her head.

But then, his hand tightens on hers, and he tilts her head up.

"Sally," he says. "We can leave now if you want. We don't need to get on the plane."

She's so relieved at his words that she can barely speak. She shakes her head, and straightens up.

"No. I'll do this."

She manages a single smile for him. "After this, meeting your parents will seem like nothing."

He chuckles, and places a chaste kiss on her lips.

They break apart to the sound of the speakers announcing that their flight is boarding. Sally takes another breath, and Paul tugs her up with their still clasped hands. Together, they board the plane.

They have seats near the back of the plane, and it's all she can do not to freak out. She's not claustrophobic… but she can't felt feel trapped in, boxed. Silently, Paul offers her the aisle seat. It alleviates the feeling somewhat, but not by much.

Sally fidgets in her seat, wishing she had thought to bring something to occupy her hands. But Paul's parents only live in Canada, and their flight shouldn't take too long, so all she had brought with her was a book.

As if she could concentrate on it long enough.

She wants to be in a kitchen, making blue food and generally having fun. Or in the candy shop, handing out sweets to excitable children and exasperated mothers. Sally closes her eyes and latches onto those thoughts like a life line.

If she imagines hard enough, she can almost imagine the smell of food cooking, or the soothing chatter of the candy shop. A light smile flits across her face.

And then, the plane starts moving.

Sally's eyes fly open, and she clutches her seat in terror. The plane is increasing in speed, thundering down the runway with the rumbling clear in her ears. Her eyes dart around the cabin.

Everyone else but her is okay.

How can they just sit there like nothing's happening? The plane is moving. The _plane _is _moving_. And soon, they'll be up in the air where nothing can help them. There'll be nothing to tether to the ground, to safety.

She needs to escape. Sally's trembling hands fumble for her seatbelt frantically.

There's a sound of alarm – she think it's Paul – and suddenly, there are hands restraining her. He wraps his arms securely around her, murmuring comforting words in her ears.

She can do nothing but cling to him tightly and squeeze her eyes shut. She breathes in his familiar scent, the scratchy fabric of his sweater, and she tries to focus on those instead.

Her stomach lurches once, twice, and then they're in the air.

It takes far too long for them to level out. Sally keeps her arms around Paul the whole times, her stomach flipping anxiously in her gut.

The moment the plane is steady, she loosens her grip, leaning back.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I— I didn't know it would be that bad."

"Don't worry about it," he says soothingly, not letting go of her. "I understand."

She inhales deeply, holds it, then lets it out slowly.

The first hour is tortuous. She's jumpy and anxious and paranoid, and she thinks the people around her are just about done with her. Sally must've gotten up to pace half a dozen times already. She's just thankful she has the aisle seat so she doesn't bother anyone.

Any thoughts of sleep are brushed away at her first experience with turbulence.

She completely freezes up, thoughts of _I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie _running on repeat in her mind.

When it's over, she almost sobs in relief.

By the second hour, she thinks she can manage settling down. Maybe she could call the stewardess and get some tea and maybe read a book. Paul has dutifully stayed awake with her, and she can't thank him enough for it.

But he just brushes it off every time, sending her reassuring smile.

And then, everything goes wrong.

At first, she just thinks its turbulence again. The plane is wobbly and bouncing up and down.

But then, the clattering get louder and louder and she literally being yanked back and forth in her seat. She shoots an alarmed look at Paul. There's a worried furrow between his eyebrows – this can't be normal.

When the other passengers start muttering amongst themselves, she's starting to panic. The stewardesses are quickly moving down the aisle, trying to get the passengers to be calm.

There's a crackle of static, and the PA comes on.

"This is your pilot speaking. At present, I'm afraid—"

That's all she hears before the plane takes an abrupt nosedive into the clouds. They're gaining speed impossibly quick, and she thinks all the air is being sucked out of her lungs.

_This can't be happening, _she thinks.

Sally reaches out her arm, and grabs Paul's. They meet each other's eyes, panic the only thing registering.

She can hear people screaming in the background, but she can barely even say a word. The scenery in the window flashes by so fast she can't make out anything but blue and white, and the world is spinning.

They're falling.

Terror has frozen her bones. All her worst nightmares have come to life, and she's trapped in a plummeting metal death trap.

She trapped.

(She's going to die.)

Die.

How funny, she can only think blankly. She knows the word inside and out— uses it in her ordinary language, hears it around her so much. She feels the fear of it whenever she sees Percy's back as he leaves once more, but never in her life has she truly _understood _it.

(She's going to die.)

She sees a flash of green, and she realizes that they're about to hit the ground.

(This is it.)

Not even the Gods can save her now.

She mouths _I love you _at Paul, and braces for impact.


End file.
